


After the Long Night

by ladylace616



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, House Stark, Loyalty, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylace616/pseuds/ladylace616
Summary: Things changed between Sansa and Tyrion after the Long Night. (Canon compliant up until season 8x3, spoilers inside.)





	After the Long Night

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is based off the characters owned by George R.R. Martin. I do not own Game of Thrones and gain no profit in posting this story. I simply wanted to do a character study on two of the men in Sansa's life and how they might treat her once they are reunited. I was really hoping for a Sansa/Hound reunion scene and have yet to be satisfied. This is one way I imagined conversations taking place between the characters, hope you enjoy!

After the Long Night, things changed between Sansa and Tyrion. The passionate silence they shared in the crypt spoke more volumes than any interaction Sansa ever willingly had with a man. She did not forget that, years ago, Tyrion had honored her dignity. She wasn’t lying when she told him he was the best husband she ever had.

After the Dawn was brought by Arya, Sansa resumed ruling the North in Jon’s name. Jon remained busy with his Dragon Queen. With the two lovers otherwise occupied, Sansa sought out Tyrion’s company. She wanted to further explore her past connection with the Hand of the Queen. She invited him to dine with her privately in her chambers. She felt an altogether different feeling of pleasant anticipation in seeing Tyrion now.

When he first arrived at Winterfell with the Queen’s party, she had grown uncharacteristically nervous to see him. She wondered if he blamed her for fleeing that fateful day?

She had left him to be devoured by the lions.

Only he wasn’t defeated.

He was a tenacious sort, that much she would give him. She knew more than anyone how atrocious the man’s family could be. She did not bear him any ill will for his patricide. She only wished she could have heard him tell the tale; Lord Tywin Lannister, shot to death through the chest on the privy.

In the privacy of her chambers, she and Tyrion sat and drank wine. Sansa did not normally drink so much, but she had been goaded into it by Tyrion’s gentle admonishments just as easily as when they were first wed. He playfully cajoled her into joining him for more than one cup, and it got their tongues loose enough to be less formal with one another. Sansa did something for him she did for almost no other man, save her brothers. She let her guard down a little.

“I had heard that you killed your last husband,” Lord Tyrion remarked off handedly. “Should I be concerned?” he jokingly asked.

“You have not done anything to vex me,” Lady Sansa quipped.

She took a drink of her wine and a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Yet,” she added.

Lord Tyrion laughed at her boldness. “Ah, I pray that day shall never come, my Lady,” he politely said. “I am sure I would rue the day.”

“Certainly,” Sansa agreed. “But then, I heard you were the one that killed your own father.”

“He sentenced me to die for a crime he knew I did not commit. I would do it again in a heart beat,” the Imp passionately declared.

“Speaking of which, did you flee the city because you did have a part in my dear nephew’s demise? I’ve been dying to know.”

“In part, though I did not know it at the time, I swear to you. I’m sorry if they thought we conspired together,” she apologized.

“They did, but it matters not anymore,” he said.

“Littlefinger is the one who stole me away,” Sansa admitted.

“And yet I do not see him here,” Lord Tyrion quaintly observed.

Sansa eyed him pointedly. “He was sentenced to die for his crimes,” she said.

“Without so much as a trial,” Lord Tyrion judgmentally pointed out.

“There was a trial, he was found guilty at the end of it,” she disagreed.

“By yourself, no less.”

“I have the support of the North and the Vale behind me. Jon would not have won the battle for Winterfell without me,” she confessed to her once husband.

“What you’re telling me is that you have grown into a very graceful and deadly woman, my Lady,” Tyrion remarked. “A very cunning and beautiful one, probably one of the most underestimated players in this great game of thrones,” Tyrion admitted.

“I wish to rule the North, as my Ancestors before me, nothing more,” Sansa finally revealed. She wanted to remain the Lady of Winterfell for the rest of her days and rule with justice and kindness for the small folk. She cared not for the throne, or to be the Queen of All Seven Kingdoms. She only wanted to be the Queen of one Kingdom, her Home.

 

~*~

 

When Tyrion left her chambers for the evening, the room didn’t feel as bright. She felt lonelier than she would let herself admit. The warmth that drink had brought to her weary bones made her feel listless. She did not wish to lay abed just yet.

Sansa had dismissed her maid for the night after she brought Lord Tyrion and her their meal. The foolish girl was nowhere to be seen, so Sansa decided to brave the kitchen herself for a cup of cold milk laced with honey. She was on her way to the kitchens when she heard the unmistakable sound of some of the Lords voices raised in a drunken raucous. Their was light spilling from the Great Hall, and all the tables were empty expect for one.

Tormund Giantsbane, one of Jon’s most respected war allies and friends, and the one and only Hound were gathered at the table. There were a few other wildlings as well, men she did not recognize. She was positioned in the shadows in such a way that she could see and not be readily discovered.

She looked closely at the Hound. His face was flushed from drink. His face was still a mess to her, but she noticed that he was laughing at something Tormund said. She had never seen a ghost of a smile on his face, let alone a genuine one.

It was not lost on Sansa that the two men who had shown her the greatest kindness in her life were now gathered under her roof.

Sansa had always been comforted by the Hound. She recalled the shocking gentleness he displayed in handling her after her many abuses. He cleaned her up and treated her right.

Tyrion treated her with honor and respect.

She thought how strange it was that the men who were the most mangled in the face had the most tender hearts.

She slipped away before the revelers of the night noticed her. Her Hound would have his day. They would meet again soon.

~*~

When Jon and Daenerys and what was left of their armies dispersed, Sandor Clegane was meant to go with him. He was saddling up his bags to leave for the long trek when suddenly she appeared in the courtyard.

Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell was much more beautiful than he remembered. He ached at the icy blue of her eyes. She was no longer his Little Bird. She was calm and regal in the way she held her head high proudly. He remembered a time when she squared her shoulders the same way, and almost toppled the boy king Joffrey to his doom on the ramparts. Everyone was talking about how underestimated Sansa was, but he knew better. Those Stark girls were a force to be reckoned with, and he was glad he was on the right side in this crazy war.

Sandor believed the rumors he heard from the Northerners, that Sansa had executed Little Finger. Not before killing her own Lord Husband by feeding him to his own dogs. The irony was not lost on Sandor. Sandor also knew the tales that Arya had poisoned all the males of house Frey were true. He did not put anything past that little killer.

He always referred to Arya as a wolf bitch, and Sansa seemed to be one in her own right now. “Ser Clegane,” she called out to him. She came nearer to him, and he was struck yet again by the contrast of her pale white skin and fiery red hair. He wished very much to have a lock to hold and admire, to twirl around his big pinky and hold dear. He knew he could never have her.

“Aye, Lady Stark,” he said, his voice as gruff as she remembered.

“I wanted to thank you, before you leave,” she said. Only now did he notice something she carried in her hands.

“I told you, you don’t have to pay a dog to chase off rats,” Sandor spit. “Them bastards needed killing,” he said.

“You weren’t injured badly, I hope?” she questioned him.

Sandor frowned familiarly. His face was still a fright, but Sansa didn’t flinch. There were worse things in life than a scarred face. She had firsthand experience of this knowledge.

“No, nothing too bad,” he answered. His leg was bandaged but it wasn’t so grievous an injury he couldn’t ride. A maester might have advised otherwise, but everyone knew what Sandor thought about people who told him what he could and couldn’t do.

“I’m glad then,” Sansa politely offered up with a small smile. She held in her hands a heavy grey cloak, and she held it up for him to inspect. On the back of the cloak was the white direwolf symbol of the Starks, a symbol for the North. Sandor was speechless as he took the cloak from her dainty hands.

“I spoke with my sister, and she told me how much you helped her after King’s Landing, and during the Long Night,” Sansa said.

“I just want you to know that House Stark recognizes your loyalty. I can never repay you for the kindness you have shown both my sister and I, but I hope that this will serve as a token of my gratitude.” Her blue eyes shined with emotion then, and he almost thought she might embrace him.

But no. There were too many soldiers about. The army was marching ahead of Queen Daenerys and her dragon retinue. Sansa had already seen Lady Brienne, Jaime, and Tyrion off on their journey south. Sandor was the last person she needed words with before he left again.

“I’ll wear it with pride,” Sandor promised.

Sandor did something any knight would have done, but the action still surprised Sansa. He held his hand aloft and gestured for her to put her hand in his. Once she tenderly offered him her slight hand, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against it. Sansa was touched by the gesture.

Sandor turned away to mount his steed. Sansa placed a hand on his knee and squeezed it tenderly.

“May you have good fortune in the war to come, Sandor.” Sansa wished him well with unshed tears in her eyes. She knew he was going to King’s Landing to finally end his brother’s life, or to die trying.

Sandor would think of her hopeful face shining up at him the entire ride south, and to his ultimate fate.


End file.
